


The Adventures of A. J. Raggles Part II - A Costume Party

by WolfieOnAO3



Series: The Adventures of A. J. Raggles [2]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung, The Adventures of A. J. Raggles
Genre: Absolute Idiots In Love, Comedy, Crime and Crack, Crime and Cricket, Delinquency and Draughts, M/M, Original Characters based on Literary Characters, Parody, e.w. hornung, victorian london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfieOnAO3/pseuds/WolfieOnAO3
Summary: Raggles and Buddy are invited to a costume party.For E. W. H.Thisform of flattery...
Relationships: A. J. Raggles/Buddy Maggots
Series: The Adventures of A. J. Raggles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904011
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Also for all of the Raffleites on the Crime and Cricket discord, especially the-prince-of-professors, who discovered Raggles and began all of this... _thisness_.
> 
> Wonderful. WONDERFUL.
> 
> Willie, wherever you are, I hope this makes you smile.

London was just then talking of one whose name is already a name and nothing more -- although, indeed, it was a name and nothing more at the time to anyone outside of the elite plumbing set of which I was a dogged outlier. Conan Caulinthall had made his hundreds in plumbing the pipes of South England in the middle of the previous decade, and had since come home to St. John’s Wood as a triumphant man, whereupon, and indeed, wherein, he established a rather extraordinary, er, establishment. 

Now, some of my readers may be distantly aware of the intricacies of the technical work of plumbers, in the way that anyone who has experienced the miracles of modern latrinal conveniences surely must, in their more idle moments, have marvelled upon the pipes which bring and remove water from their homes and businesses, and upon the hearty, hardy pipeworkers who act as the latter day miracle-workers behind this contrivance. But I firmly believe that all of my readers shall _certainly_ be unaware of the intricacies of the _social politics_ of plumbers; I shall refrain from giving a full account of this here, as I have written at great length on the topic for _The Idler_ , Issue IV, page 32, just after _The Burrawaar Brand_ by that chap whose name I can never quite remember. That is a jolly good short story, though; well worth a read, and, indeed, a re-read, if you are so inclined. I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest a re-re-read, but, then, what manner of eccentric dabbles in re-re-reading in this day and age, I ask you?

...What was I saying? 

Oh, yes: 

_In res_ the cutthroat clique of London plumbers, suffice it for me to say that if you wanted to make it in that dark underworld it was necessary to first procure the friendship and patronage of the illustrious, eccentric Conan Caulinthall. Not for his recommendations, his territory, nor for his social graces -- for the world of the humble plumber had not at that time yet become so tyrannised as it is now, Gods have mercy -- but for the far more practical reason that he was the sole possessor of every _Purple Diamond_ in the country. Or, at least within London and her surrounding counties. For with the riches he had earned himself in the tin mines of Cornwall (he’d plumbed five local pubs with indoor toilets! Five!), Conan Caulinthall had purchased every last _Patented Purple Diamond Plumber’s Mate Head Lantern: The Only Licensed Plumbers Head Lantern This Side Of The Channel! Get Yours TODAY!_ (so the advertisements read). Only you couldn’t “get yours today”, not unless you got yours from old Conan Caulinthall. 

The problem for me was that he only allowed his friends to buy them. 

You see, much of London’s pipeworks run underground; or at least in rather dark and hidden away places where ladies and suchlike won’t have to see them. And, as you can imagine, plumbing with one hand occupied by holding a lantern makes the job a trifle difficult. As such, building a word-of-mouth reputation for being a first-class plumber who never makes mistakes -- such as, for an absolutely hypothetical example, accidentally plumbing a toilet disposal pipe up to the hot water pipe for the upstairs bath -- is really quite difficult unless you have one of Caulinthall’s Purple Diamonds strapped to your head as you work.

I had on many occasions considered putting my problem to Raggles -- for there was nary a conundrum I have ever come across which my dear, beloved A. J. couldn’t think his way around -- but unfortunately I kept forgetting.

‘I say, Buddy, old chap?’ Raggles said to me one evening over a coffee and soda (we had sadly run out of whiskey and had to make do).

‘Yes, Raggles?’

‘I say, do you happen to know a chap called -- Oh, blast, what was it now? Reuben... Ronan... Rose-something... Cauli-something... er?’

‘Conan Caulinthall!?’ I gasped.

‘That’s just the bunny, old boy!’ Raggles said. ‘I knew you’d know who I meant! You’re such a clever little chap.’ Along with his complimentary words, A. J. shot me a shiny smile across the sofa, and made me quite forget my train of thought. I sat and pined quietly to myself for about ten minutes or so, before finally remembering that the handsome draughts player had, in fact, asked me a question; and, more pertinently, a question which may have some baring on the problem which had been so plaguing me for the past few months.

‘I say, Raggles?’

‘Yes, my dear little ferret?’

‘You asked me just now whether I knew a chap named Conan Caulinthall, didn’t you?’

‘By Jove, you’re quite right, Buddy! It quite slipped my mind!’ he cried, setting down his drink and shaking his head at it censoriously. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have had a second tumbler.’

‘ _Why_ , Raggles?’ I implored, clasping at my dear friend’s hands and looking beseechingly up into his watery blue-grey eyes, large and shining behind his slightly bent pince-nez. ‘Why did you ask about Caulinthall?!’

‘Oh, well, don’t get too excited. It’s only that he is a member of one of my Clubs, The Young Conformists. I was speaking to him the other night; he had caused a bit of a ruckus, you see, after one of the waiters , a new chap, quite attractive, if you like that sort of thing, but anyway, he served Caulinthall the wrong aperitif, and so I stepped in and--’

‘Raggles!’

‘Oh, well, yes, anyway, the long and the short of it is that he has invited me to a party at his place over in St. John’s Wood, and I have a plus one. Was wondering if you’d be so good as to be it? My plus one, that is.’

‘Good Lord!’ I exclaimed, leaping out of my seat and narrowly avoiding knocking over my coffee and soda. ‘Are you in jest, Raggles?’

‘No,’ he frowned. ‘What an odd thing that would be to joke about.’

‘Caulinthall is the most important plumber in London, Raggles!’ I yelped, and I fear I may have jumped up and down in my excitement. ‘Raggles, if I can get in his good graces -- By George, I’ll finally be able to get one of his _Purple Diamonds_! I’ll be able to rebuild my reputation after that sewer-bath incident!’

‘“Purple Diamonds”?’

‘Yes! They are head lanterns for use by plumbers. It’s really quite impossible to do a good job without one. Old Caulinthall bought up the entire stock of them, and only sells them to his cronies. And even then at a hugely inflated price.’

‘That’s not very sporting of the old badger,’ Raggles said with an attractively furrowed brow.

‘Not very sporting at all,’ I agreed with some heat.

‘Wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing in the draughts leagues, I can tell you outright.’

‘I should think not!’ I cried. ‘The only reason the plumbers stand for it is because Caulinthall got hold of the patents in an illegal card game, and whilst he has his hands on those, no one else dares to make their own versions in case he sues them through the nose for it. It is a rum business, Raggles. I know people think that the work of plumbers is all sweetness and light, but I can tell you in confidence, my dear chap, that it has a dark underbelly. As dark as a well-lit room with the curtains closed and the gas lights turned off!’

‘With candles, though?’ Raggles asked, shooting me a concerned glance.

I shook my head somberly, and Raggles muttered a mild curse beneath his breath. I could now see that he had a firm handle on the rowing boat of my poor situation.

Raggles unfolded his long, willowy legs and began to pace around the room.

‘So. This Caulinthall dog has all of the stock of these -- what did you call them, _Purple Diamonds_?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he won the patents in a crooked card game?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And he won’t sell these lanterns to anyone outside of his circle of friends?’

‘He certainly won’t!’

‘And we have been invited to his party next Saturday?’

‘Well, you have, Raggles.’

‘But with you as my plus one, of course.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘My dear ferret, who else would I take?’

‘I thought Ms Mars had rather had her eye on you...’

‘I’d have no one on my arm but you, Buddy.’

‘Oh. Thank you, Raggles. I feel quite the same about you, you know!’

‘Then that’s settled!’ he exclaimed happily, before sobering up once again. ‘No. No, wait, it isn’t settled quite yet. Buddy, what was the illegal card game Caulinthall won his patents in?’

‘Some local game they play down in Cornwall, I think. Diamond’s Briar, I think it’s called.’

‘Diamond’s Briar,’ Raggles repeated, tapping his elegant, draughts-playing forefinger against a pair of pale pink lips. His own lips, that is to say. ‘An illicit game of Diamond’s Briar….That is useful information, Buddy.’

‘Is it?’

‘All information is useful, my boy! Well,’ he said, holding out his glittering hand to me, ‘you had best be getting along, my dear fellow. I have some things I need to sort out.’

‘Can’t I help?’

‘Not a bit, my lad! In fact, it would probably be better if you stay away for a few days, if you don’t mind. Please don’t fret in the meantime, and don’t do anything rash. I shall call by your place on Saturday morning, how about that?’

‘But Raggles,’ I protested, ‘that’s nearly a week away!’

‘Quite right! See you in nearly a week, ferret!

And with that, I found myself ushered out of Raggles’ warm, welcoming semi-detached and back out into the cold, unwelcoming streets of suburban and emphatically detached London.


	2. Chapter II

I spent that week in a fervid state, worrying over whether I would be able to make a good enough impression on old Caulinthall to get myself into his outer circle. In fact, I quite seriously considered paying him a visit to his house in St. John’s Wood to give mine and A. J.’s RSVP in person; but as Raggles had asked me ever so politely to neither fret nor do anything impulsive, I loyally followed his instructions to the letter and stayed home and tried not to think about it.

Saturday morning came, as Saturday mornings are wont to do; but this one brought with it the pale face, curly head, and slightly skewiff tie of my dear A. J. Raggles, and so towards that Saturday morning I felt rather more affection than I would your average, run-of-the-mill, Raggles-less Saturday mornings. 

‘Raggles!’ I called excitedly down from my third floor window, out to the street as he ambled down it, walking along with his characteristic goose-like grace. My heart skipped a beat as I watched him. ‘I was worrying you wouldn’t come!’

‘What?’ he shouted back up to me.

‘I said, I was worrying that you wouldn’t come!’

‘...What?’

‘I said, I was worrying that you wouldn’t come!’

Raggles shouted back something I couldn’t quite make out, and I decided that it would probably be best for us to wait to have our conversation when we were both at the same altitude.

‘Raggles!’ I cried happily when he walked in my door. ‘I was worrying you wouldn’t come!’

‘Worrying I wouldn’t come? But it’s only eight thirty, old boy. I couldn’t very well have come much earlier. What were you shouting down at me?’

‘“I was worrying you wouldn’t come”.’

‘I know, but what was it that you shouted down to me?’

‘No, that’s what I shouted down.’

‘Oh, right. I thought it was something else.’

‘No, though it might well have been, if I’d known you couldn’t hear me. I’ve missed you awfully, this week, Raggles!’

‘Not quite a week, Buddy.’

‘Well, however long, then. What have you been doing?’

‘Sorting out these!’ 

It was only then that I noticed that A. J. was carrying two middling sized bags over his shoulder. I soon wished that I hadn’t; in that, I wished that he hadn’t brought them at all, or that they hadn’t been at all necessary.

Because from the first bag Raggles removed, piece by piece, a full policeman’s uniform, from hat to boots. Upon laying the whole ensemble out on my desk, he looked up at me with a self-satisfied smile.

‘That’s a policeman’s uniform,’ I said, and he nodded happily.

‘Yes. I think I’ll look rather fetching in it, don’t you? Unless you’d rather be the policeman? Look, there are even some handcuffs for authenticity!’

I glanced between Raggles and the uniform, noting that there were indeed handcuffs in the pocket. ‘Uh…’ I said, eloquently.

‘Don’t worry, Buddy. I come bearing gifts for all!’ he said, as he emptied out the second bag, which contained a black and red striped jumper, a threadbare grey shirt, a cockney cap, and, to my alarm, a black mask. ‘There aren’t any trousers, but I don’t suppose that will be a problem.’

I wasn’t entirely sure what activities Raggles might have planned involving a policeman’s uniform, handcuffs, and the get-up of a trouser-less thief, but I trusted him implicitly, and, under normal circumstances, should have happily gone along with whatever he was up to without question. However, with Caulinthall’s party mere hours away, and my plumbing career hanging in the balance, and after an entire week of silence from my dearest friend, my usually placid nerves were simply in no mood for fun and games of any sort.

‘Yes, yes, okay, Raggles. We can do whatever it is you want to do with these outfits after -- but really we should be thinking about Caulinthall’s party! It is this evening, after all!’

Raggles blinked slowly at me, his eyelids flickering like the slow beats of a butterfly’s wing, if butterflies only had one wing each, and that wing had eyelashes along one side of it, and if it were also made of human skin. ‘Buddy, but these _are_ for Caulinthall’s party?’

‘They are?’

‘Of course.’ Raggles paused and gave me a curious look. ‘What did _you_ think they were for?’

‘Er… Don’t know,’ I said, quickly. ‘But what do you mean they are for Caulinthall’s party? What for?’

‘For Caulinthall’s party.’

‘Oh, yes. But _why?'_

‘Well, we can’t very well turn up to a costume party without costumes, Buddy. Especially not if you want to get in the old goat’s good graces! Somewhat of a social _faux pas_ , don’t you think?’

‘Costume party!’ I hollered, taken aback and, indeed, taking a step back. ‘Who said anything about a costume party!’

‘I did, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Did I not mention?’

‘No, you did _not_ mention, Raggles!’

‘Oh, sorry, old chap. That’s quite a revelation to spring on a fellow at eight-thirty in the morning, isn’t it? I thought I’d told you.’

‘Oh,’ I moaned, burying my face in my hands. ‘I hate costume parties.’

‘Do you really? I find them exceptionally diverting. But I’ve always been a dash on the theatrical side, you know. Why don’t you like them, my boy?’ 

With a whimper and a wail, I laid my miserable tale before my friend.

‘You see, Raggles… When I was younger, my mother once hosted a costume party. A big, fancy affair, all the neighbours were invited. But… You see, she dressed me up as a fat little piglet, and made me oink at everyone as they came in through the door.’

‘What’s so wrong with that? It sounds rather adorable to me,’ Raggles said, trying to cheer me up. ‘And certainly nothing to be ashamed of _now_ , old chap! Most of us got dressed up in funny little outfits by our mothers as toddlers, my lad. It’s practically a rite of passage.’

‘I was nineteen!’ 

‘Oh. Goodness. Well, still I’m sure you were very cute, Buddy--’

I threw myself down into my armchair, and groaned. ‘Oh, let’s not go, A. J., let’s not go! It won’t be any fun, anyway, these blasted things never are!’

‘Oh, come now,’ said Raggles, crouching down before me and giving my knee a hearty squeeze, ‘brighten up, Buddy mine! Remember those _Purple Diamond_ lanterns, eh what? Necessity, my dear Buddy! Does the writer write only when he is visited by his muse? Does the artist paint for legacy alone? Must you and I skip merrily along to a stupid costume party for _fun_ , like every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the West End? We have a _cause_ , Buddy, and that cause is _your_ \--’ he put his finger beneath my chin and tilted my face to look at him ‘-- _your_ plumbing career, my dearest ferret. If that’s not a good reason for us to dress up as a copper and a criminal, and maybe have me handcuff you and boss you about a bit, then I don’t know what is!’

I considered his words -- a feat made rather more difficult by way of the distracting fact that his hand remained under my chin, because by George, he was pretty -- and finally nodded in agreement.

‘You’re right, Raggles,’ I sighed. ‘We really do have to go. It’s for the greater good.’

‘And with costumes as good as these, you’re sure to win the old antelope over, Buddy! You’ll soon forget all about--’

‘Don’t say it, A. J.’

‘Sorry.’

‘They are good costumes,’ I said, glancing back at the outfits Raggles had so cleverly put together over the course of that nearly-week. ‘You’ve done splendidly, old boy. As always, of course.’

‘That police man’s hat is a _real_ one…’ Raggles nodded at me conspiratorially, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I got it when I was up at Oxford.’

‘I didn’t know you went to Oxford, Raggles.’

‘Yes, I don’t talk about it, much. It was last year for the draughts tournaments. I was just pipped for the bronze medal, and the fourth prize was that helmet. Bit of an odd prize, but honestly I was rather thrilled with it, aside from the fact that I’d been beaten by that tyke Jack Rutter. He had youth on his side, it was hardly a fair battle. They shouldn’t allow twelve-year-olds to compete with adults. Not at all sporting.’

‘I suppose I should find my most raggedy pair of trousers to complete my _villain’s_ ensemble,’ I pondered aloud as I looked over my costume, having heard Raggles’ diatribes on the ethics of draughts tournaments enough times that I had most of them memorised.

‘What? Oh! Yes, that’s a good idea, actually, Buddy. Might be a bit cold without, I suppose.’

‘But, Raggles…’ I said, hesitating, and fiddling with the cuff of my shirtsleeve.

‘What, Buddy?’

‘Don’t you think it’s a little… Oh, I don’t know… _Risky_?’

‘Risk? What risk?’

‘Me dressing up as a thief, when--’ I glanced about my room furtively, before continuing in a low whisper, ‘--when I _am_ a thief!’

‘Are you, Buddy?!’ Raggles said, raising his eyebrows. ‘When did you get into that line?’

‘We both are, Raggles; we both did! Remember those sausages, and steaks, and that bloody big ham we stole from the butcher’s last month!’

‘Oh, yes, that. Well, really _I_ stole them, Buddy, my boy. You were merely an accessory to the crime.’

‘But still, A. J.!’ I fretted. ‘Doesn’t it seem to be tempting fate? Me being the criminal, and you being the athletic, wonderful, masterful, luminous, audacious, resourceful, handsome, indolent, courageous, unscrupulous, dazzling, glittering, irresistible--’

‘--All right, steady on.’

‘--police officer who arrests me? What if it should come _true_! Oh, it’s tempting fate, Raggles, it’s tempting fate!’

‘Perhaps,’ he nodded slowly, before a mischievous, wicked, irresistible smile stole across his lips. ‘Yes. Yes, in fact it _is_ tempting Fate, Buddy, my boy! And why not! Let us tempt her! She tempts us often enough, doesn’t she? Why not give her a taste of her own medicine for once!’

I wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, but Raggles’ enthusiasm was contagious, and I’ve never been able to resist that smile of his, and so I soon found myself nodding fervently along with him. ‘Yes! Yes, _let’s_ , A. J.!’

Little did I know what misadventures Fate had in store for us later that evening…

*


	3. Chapter III

When we were dressed in our respective costumes, I can’t deny that we really looked the part. As Raggles had arrived rather early in the day, he had caught me before I had shaved, and so, to complete the look of the Cockney Ruffian, I forwent shaving, and felt I looked quite the rough and ready villain once I had donned my apparel.

‘Oh, I say, Buddy, you really do look sweet!’ Raggles smiled when I revealed my completed ensemble to him. ‘You ought not to have shaved though, would have made you look a little tougher, perhaps.’

‘I haven’t shaved!’

‘Oh? Have you not?’ he asked, upon which he ran his hand gently over my cheek and jaw. ‘Oh, so you haven’t. Oh, well good thinking, Buddy.’

‘Aldsjgjgfkldgkjfd,’ I said.

‘Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?’

‘I said “You look rather excellent too, in that get up!”’

‘Thank you, Buddy! I thought so myself.’

‘If you weren’t such a famous draughts player and man-about-town, people would easily mistake you for a real policeman!’

‘What fun that would be, eh, ferret? Alas, such is the price of fame.’

We took a hansom cab to St. John’s Wood -- for that very morning Raggles’ eccentric dead aunt had paid out a substantial six-month sum, and the dear chap was feeling profligate. 

‘Well, here we are, Raggles,’ I said, swallowing the nervousness which was balling up in my throat like a hunk of anxious dry bread. ‘I suppose we should go in, then.’

‘Not so fast, Buddy,’ Raggles said, laying his hand on my chest. ‘I’ve had an idea.’

‘An idea, Raggles?’

‘Yes, Buddy, an idea. Now, it is absolutely imperative that you make a good impression on this old Caulinthall lamb, correct?’

I nodded.

‘And simply _showing up_ to his party, well, that’s not very _impressive_ now, is it? It lacks what I like to call a certain _dramatic flair_.’

‘I suppose you might say that,’ I said.

‘I _do_ say that!’ he said. 

‘Well, what do you propose?’

‘What I propose, my dear Buddy, is that we enter, and announce ourselves... _de caractere_!’

‘What?’

‘In character, Buddy, in character!’

‘What, pretend to be a real thief and a real copper, is that what you mean?’

‘That is precisely what I mean; I knew you would grasp the gist of the job quickly, my clever little ferret. We could even put together an impromptu little improvisation piece! I was in the theatre association at school, you know.’

‘Weren’t you their bookkeeper?’

‘Yes, but I was still in the association, Buddy.’

‘What do you want us to do, then?’ I asked.

‘I thought it could be a bit of a laugh if you snuck in around the back, did some theatrical sneaking, really laying it on thick, you know, and then I appear and give it the old _“‘Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello! What ‘ave we got ‘ere then!”’_

‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, seizing the pointy end of the point. ‘And then of course, because you are so renowned and well-loved by all intelligent, draughts-loving, fashionable types of that set, you’ll be immediately recognised, and everyone will clap, and--’

‘And _you_ , Buddy, shall promptly be recognised as the true star of the show. How could old Caulinthall not love you to pieces after a performance like that, eh? You’ll have _Purple Diamonds_ coming out of your ears!’

‘I don’t want them in my ears, A. J.,’ I explained. ‘They go on the front of your head. If they were in the ears, you would have to turn your head at an angle to whatever you were trying to plumb, and then try to look at the pipes at an oblique angle, which would really give you a strain in the neck, and--’

‘I was speaking metaphorically, Buddy. Now, have you got your mask?’

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the mask with trembling hands, for I was beginning to experience a little stage fright. Raggles took the mask from me, giving my hot, shaky hands a reassuring squeeze with his own cool, steady, lithe, masterful, dazzling one, before reaching up and fastening the mask around my head for me.

‘There we go, Buddy,’ he said, shooting me with a shotgun of a smile and leaving me feeling half dead from the sheer brilliance of it. ‘You look adorable.’

‘I’m supposed to look _scary_.’

‘Adorably scary.’

‘I suppose that will do. But Raggles, do you really think I can do this? Pull it off, I mean?’

‘Don’t pull it off, Buddy, that mask is an integral part of the costume.’

‘No, I mean pull off the performance. Do a good job, that is to say. I’m not much of an actor…’

‘Ah You see, that’s the best bit! You don’t have to act, Buddy! You _are_ a criminal, remember!’

‘Oh!’ I perked up. ‘Oh, yes, I forgot! I am, aren’t I!’

‘Exactly! So how can you not give a believable performance? Just be yourself, my dearest dear darling little dear chap, and you will be _perfect_. You always are.’

‘Oh, A. J…’

‘Go on, then. The party was due to start at seven, and it is already seven fifteen! You go in first around the back, and I’ll give you a few minutes to work your magic before I mosey my way onto the set and join you.’

‘I won’t let you down, Raggles,’ I promised, and he shook my hand with his firm, handsome, clean-shaven grip.

‘You never do, Buddy. Never.’

With his complimentary words ringing in my ears like a church bell calling me to church and salvation, I made my way around to the back of the house, clambered over a wall, looked briefly back to send a wave to Raggles, who mimed clapping me on, before, doing my best sneak, I crept around to the back door of the house.

As I said at the beginning of this account, Caulinthall had set up quite an extraordinary establishment, in St. John’s Wood. I realise only now that I didn’t elaborate on the particular nature of his castle -- not literal castle, that is to say, but rather castle as in “a man’s home is his castle” --’s extraordinariness. The extraordinary thing about this establishment was not in it’s isolation, for it was a semi-detached in a street full of semi-detached houses; neither was it’s extraordinariness in its manner of staff, as as far as I know Caulinthall kept two maids and a butler, none of whom were particularly notable, though apparently one of the maids was rather pretty, if you like that sort of things.

No, the truly extraordinary thing about Caulinthall’s establishment was the rather extraordinary number of cats and birds which the household possessed. You see, Mr Caulinthall, having been a Cornwall man whose ancestors had been miners, had grown up around canaries -- canaries, of course, being the bosom pals of all underground explorers -- and had carried his affection for the small birds on through into his adulthood. Mrs Caulinthall, on the other hand, was making a small name for herself in the highly competitive world of breeding fancy cats. This combination of cat and canary was, as you may very well imagine, quite a volatile one, and I had heard through the gossip-vine at the Club that Mr and Mrs Caulinthall had once come close to filing for divorce after Mrs C.’s most highly prized pussy took Mr C.’s particular favourite canary out for dinner. Unfortunately, whilst the poor bird must have assumed that Kitty was taking him to the avian equivalent of the Cafe Royal, Kitty had something rather closer to home in mind. When old Caulinthall came home from work to find his favourite canary’s cage empty, and the cat surrounded by a pile of delicate yellow feathers, it is safe to say that he harboured a few murderous thoughts. According to the neighbours, who heard the _fracas_ quite clearly, he had thrown around with liberality such kindly sobriquets as “mangy furball”, “dog food in waiting”, and “future hat trimming” at the creature, who no doubt felt quite put out at being so harangued when all she wanted to do was sit back in front of the fire and enjoy the peace that comes only from having eaten a good square meal. Or, rather, in this case, a good bird-shaped meal.

As I was saying, I crept around to the back door of the house. Looking back, it was rather on the quiet side for a house hosting a party, but I have always been of a quiet disposition myself, preferring genial, subdued get togethers over raucous parties full of dancing and giggling women, and so the calm aura which surrounded the house reassured rather than alarmed me -- although I admit to experiencing a small thrill of nerves upon thinking that I soon would liven up this quiet affair with mine and Raggles’ thespian performance. But A. J. was right, it would only make me leave more of an impression. And perhaps the guests would be relieved at the diversion. Not everyone is as easily pleased as me by quiet conversation.

I approached the back door and laid my fingerless-knitted-gloved hand on the handle. Giving it a gentle wiggle, to my joy I found that the thing was unlocked, and upon opening it, found myself in the kitchen, which was dark. Straining my ears as I snuck in, I tried to listen for the tell-tale signs of merriment which tend to accompany social gatherings, but, confusingly, heard none. Okay, I said to myself, perhaps they are all talking quietly. No matter; all I had to do was sneak about the house until I stumbled across the correct room. Of course, I thought to myself, I should do my utmost to ensure that I was not seen until entering the main party room. It would ruin the surprise entirely were I to be spotted by a straggler beforehand, for surely he or she, in their merriment at such a fun game, would alert everyone else by their laughter, and that just wouldn’t do at all.

And, so, I began making my creeping way through the kitchen, into the hallways, and poked my head through various doors. One seemed promising, being not only well lit, unlike every other into which I had peeked, but in having a door on the far side which, as far as I could tell, was inaccessible from the hall. Perhaps that was where all of the partygoers were hiding! In I wandered, admiring the attractive floral rug, and taking an ill-advised moment to linger over a particularly attractive plaster bust of Napoleon atop the piano, before, taking a deep breath and prepping myself for my grand entrance, I swung open the far door with flair and stepped through.

Unfortunately, I found myself not in a room full of merry plumbers, but in a cupboard, with a small, furry, white cat. 

‘Hello, puss,’ I purred, crouching down to scratch the dear little thing’s ear as she arched her back against my leg and purred back at me in reply. ‘What are you doing in here, little kitty? Do you know where the party is, hmm? Do you know where your daddy is? Not your real daddy, I have no interest in finding him -- not to cast aspersions on his good name, of course, I am sure that as tom cats go, your father is as stalwart as the best of them. But you see, it’s not him that I have particular business with. It’s your human daddy I am interested in finding. This house is like a maze, puss. You wouldn’t think it was so large, looking at it from the outside, but it really is rather--’

I halted in my feline conversation upon hearing voices approaching the room. Without thinking, my reactive brain decided that the best course of action would be to scoop the cat up in my arms, squash myself into the cupboard bodily, and pull the door to. Lucky I did, at that, as the voices soon tumbled into the room I had only moments ago been inhabiting -- and they were certainly not the voices of party-going plumbers.

‘Oh, Jack,’ a female voice with a lilting south western accent giggled, ‘that _tickles!_ ’

A male voice muttered something I couldn’t quite catch, as I found myself distracted by the cat jumping up onto my shoulder and headbutting me.

‘Don’t be silly, Jack, your ‘pa won’t be ‘ome til Tuesdee, my love, thur ‘in’t no risk o’ us being caught…’

‘Yes, Dilly, darling, but my mother will be home in half an hour, and Purvis is only upstairs--’

‘Y’are a worrier, ‘in’t yer? Is it really so bad that I’m just a maid? If you’d just marry me an’ make an honest woman o’ me John Caulinthall, you woul’n’t ‘ave to worry so much!’

‘I will, oh, I _will_ , Dilly my love. As soon as I turn twenty-one, I’ll marry you in St Paul’s Cathedral if you so wish it! But before then, my father has control of my allowance, you know that. But it’s only six more months, my love, and then we shall be man and wife…’

This was followed by more giggling.

I was feeling quite perturbed by what I had heard. Not, of course, that the son of the house was having it away with, apparently, the housemaid -- that was of little to no concern to me. No, what bothered me was that young Caulinthall made the baffling claim that old Caulinthall was out of the house until Tuesday. Why would old C. not be home for his own party? And why would young C. lie about it, if it weren’t true? It was a mystery which I was most eager to solve, and I had hoped that perhaps the young couple might elaborate on the situation _in res_ the costume party further -- and perhaps they might have done, had I not at that moment remembered that I am, in fact, rather allergic to cats. 

‘ _ACHOO!’_

‘Whazzat?’ the Cornish maid yelped.

‘Sounded like a sneeze, Dill.’

‘Whur from, though?’

‘Sounded like the cupboard, Dill.’

‘Wize-a cupboard sneezing?’

‘Don’t know, Dill.’

‘Might be that one o’ yer ma’s cat’s’ve gotten trapped in there again.’

‘Oh, that’s good thinking, Dill. Do you think it’s that?’

‘What else might it be, stupid?’

‘I don’t know. A burglar, or a ghost, or -- oh _God_ , you don’t think it’s Purvis, do you? Oh, god, Dilly, if Purvis is in there, and he heard us-- My father’ll stop my allowance! And I’m waiting on my tailor to finish a new suit!’

‘Why would Purvis be in’t cupboard? He’s a butler, not a mop.’

‘I don’t know. To _spy_ on us. You know he hates me.’

‘He doesn’t hate you.’

‘He does, ever since I stepped on his foot that time, he has had it in for me.’

I was beginning to tire of this back and forth. All I wanted to do was to get out of this stupid cupboard in peace, and find out what on earth was going on with this ridiculous, elusive, terribly-organised party. I didn’t particularly want to be found in so ignoble a position, in a cupboard, cat on shoulder, as I felt it would somewhat lessen the dramatic entrance I had planned; but at the same time, I was beginning to worry that I might not have _any_ entrance if something didn’t happen soon. I must have been in the house a good fifteen minutes, by that point.

And then, to my combined pleasure and dismay, I heard the doorbell ring, followed shortly by the booming, perfectly Cockney-accented voice of my dear, darling Raggles booming down the hall.

‘Allo, ‘allo, ‘allo moi owld, er, mate! As oi am sher you can tell, I am, er, a constable of the law! Moi name is, er, Constable, er… Door.’

I strained to hear the reply, but alas, the owner of the voice seemed to prefer to keep it low.

‘Oi am ‘ere because,’ Raggles replied, ‘because I have ‘ad, er, reports, of a _burglar_ in the area! Ho, ho, ho!’

Dilly and Jack had by this point rushed from the room and out into the hallway. I took my opportunity and snuck out after them, hotfooting it in the opposite direction. Raggles was already here! Of course, it wasn’t his fault -- he wasn’t to know that I had failed to yet find the party. But it did put a wrench in the works if the policeman showed up before the burglar. Having now exhausted all of the doors I could see in the lower portion of the house, I decided to take a chance on the upstairs. After all, the house was at least three storeys tall, and some people had parlours on the first floor, didn’t they? Maybe this was a first floor party, rather than a ground floor one. Who am I to judge?

I scrambled up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I could, and darted through the first door I saw. I could still hear Raggles downstairs at the front door, acting with all of his heart. He really was a consummate professional, he could have made it on the stage. Confident in my leader’s abilities, I concentrated instead on my own part. 

The room I had entered was, like all of the others, dark, dusty, and decidedly not the room in which a party was occurring, had occurred, or was soon to be occurring within. To my eye, it was a room which was decidedly empty. I was beginning to tire of the whole thing. Perhaps I wasn’t cut out to be a plumber, if these were the lengths one had to go to for professional success. I was about ready to pack the whole thing in, and threw myself down onto an armchair in a fit of pique, upon which the chair’s fluffy cushion promptly sank four sets of claws into my arm.

At this point, things took a decided turn for the worse.


	4. Chapter IV

In general, I am quite fond of cats. I admire their independence, envy their condescension, and appreciate their fluffiness; even if they make me sneeze, I considered that a small price to pay for their elevated company. 

...In general. 

This cat in particular, however, was doing little to endear me to her cause. She simply would not listen to reason. Having evidently taken umbrage to my initial sitting on her, she was refusing to forgive me my accidental social _faux pas_ , and was expressing her discontent quite eloquently by sinking her teeth into my hand. Upon asking her politely to please refrain from biting me, and pointing out that she had, in fact, drawn blood, and thus had proven her point, the cat merely added claws to her argument. 

It is very hard to be quiet when you have a cat hanging from your raw flesh.

Several thumping footsteps were soon to be heard upon the stair.

‘I ‘eard somefin, I tells yer!’ I heard Dilly say in a stage whisper loud enough to wake the dead. ‘Loik a strangled sort of a scream. The thievin’ bastard is up ‘ere!’

‘Um, yes, quite, er, that is--’ Raggles cleared his throat. ‘Now, young miss, I think, er, I mean, oi fink oi should be the one to, er, appropriate the, er, villain… If you could point me in the direction of the party--’

‘What party?’

‘The party. Er. This is Mr Caulinthall’s residence-- er, ‘ouse, isn’t it?’

‘Yes?’

‘Er, well, er, that is, I ‘eard that ‘e was ‘avin’ a party this evenin’.’

‘No,’ the forthright maid replied. Where the son of the house was throughout all of this, I had no idea. Presumably hiding from the butler. ‘Tha’s next week. Does it mah-er?’

‘What?’

‘Does it mah-er?’

‘Does it what?’

‘Why is it important! Is this a burglar who thieves durin’ parties? Oh!’ the girl gasped. ‘’E’s not that joowell thief, izzee? That one what pinches diamonds and what’ave’you from the nobs over in the posh side of town? I read about ‘im in the newspapers. ‘E’s a clever one. You don’t think ‘e’s ‘ere, does you?! By ‘eck, if I get moi ‘ands on ‘im, I’ll be famous! They might lemme meet Marie Lloyd!’

‘Um.’ For the first time in our friendship I saw -- or, rather, heard -- Raggles waver. ‘Um. Um. Um. Do you mean to say that there _isn’t_ a party tonight?’

‘Does it look like there’s a bloody party, copper?! Oi dunno what sort’a parties you attend, but I ain’t never been to one without any people, in a dark house!’

‘It is rather dark. Can we not turn on a light?’

‘Lord, yer not Scotland Yard’s brightest, are yer? Don’tcha fink oi’d ‘ave the lights on if we could? The master’s ‘avin the gas taken out and the electric put in, before ‘im and the missus ‘as their big party nex’ Sa’urday. ‘Ang on, oi’ll getcher somthin’.’

I heard light footsteps patter down the stairs and patter back up again shortly after. 

‘’Ere yer go, moi love. Strap this’t yer ‘ead. Mister Caulinthall’s got bloody ‘undreds of the buggers, ‘m sure ‘e won’t miss one. Not if it ‘elps keep the Missus’s joowells safe from thievin’ villains, eh!’

In retrospect, I should probably have taken the opportunity of Dilly’s brief absence to make my presence known to Raggles, but I had found myself somewhat preoccupied. I had, you see, during the course of Constable Raggles’ conversation with Dilly the Housemaid, struck upon an idea I considered quite ingenious at the time. The cat was still stubbornly refusing to cede the moral high ground, and my rhetorical rejoiners of shaking my arm vigorously seemed to hurt my cause more than hers. However, upon casting my eyes heavenwards, biting my lip in attempt to keep from crying aloud, I spotted a rather large cage filled with pretty little canaries hanging suspended from the ceiling.

My subsequent actions were not ones of which I was particularly proud. But in my defence, I did have a miniature lioness tearing through my skin, which does tend to weaken one’s judgement considerably.

I opened the birdcage, and shook it until all of the birds flew out. I may have yelped. Ten to fifteen angry canaries suddenly flying in one's face, even when anticipated, do tend to have a rather startling affect.

‘’E’S IN THE BOX ROOM!’ I heard young Dilly cry.

Moments later, the door flew open, and I found myself blinded by a bright light emanating from the region of Raggles’ forehead.

‘By _Jove_ , are those _birds_?!’ I heard him shout.

‘The bastard’s trying to steal the master’s canaries!’ Dilly gasped. ‘JACK! JACK! THE BASTARD’S TRYING TO STEAL YER PA’S CANARIES!’

‘No, no, I can assure you I’m not-- Ouch! Blast this cat!’

‘AND ‘E’S GOT YER MA’S PRINCESS TIGER, TOO! Oh, you lowdown sneak, thievin’ people’s pets, what a dirty rotten trick that is!’

Raggles stepped in on my behalf. ‘Miss, if you’d please step back and let me handle -- Oh, good god! Is that a revolver?!’

My attention, hitherto divided between the birds swooping around my head, the cat chewing on my hand, and the girl yelling at me, was suddenly and entirely taken up in staring down the short barrel of a gun trembling a worrying few inches from my face.

‘Dilly! Oh, dear _God_ , Dilly, is that my gun?’ Jack Caulinthall had evidently escaped from wherever the butler had been keeping him, and stood clutching at his throat, an expression of horror on his handsome face.

‘No, it’s _moi_ gun, Jack!’

‘For goodness sake, put it down! Let the policeman do his job!’

‘Oi’m ‘elpin’ him! Oi’m ‘elpin’ aren’t I, Constable Door?’

‘Um. Uh. Um. Yes. No. Um. Look, I think you should really put down the--’

A shot suddenly rang out across the room. I felt the bullet whizz past my left ear. It was most disconcerting.

The cat dropped my hand, yowled, and made for the door, barrelling into young Caulinthall’s legs and tripping the ineffectual chap over. The girl shrieked and dropped the gun, whereupon it discharged itself once more, putting a hole in the leg of the armchair next to which I was standing. The birds, frightened already by the shouting, began to fly even more rapidly around the room, and one made for escape via the window. Sadly, the window was closed, and the poor thing got quite a knock to the head. I believe it was only stunned, however, so I don’t have to add birdslaughter to my list of crimes that night, thank God.

Raggles, of course, was sublime. Amidst the chaos, he took perfect control of the situation. Within moments I found handcuffs around my trembling wrists, and his splendid hand seizing my quaking arm. He ordered the girl to get the boy a whisky, ordered the butler to get the girl a whisky, ordered the birds back into their cage, ordered the cat to stop hissing, and informed the room at large that he would now escort me from the premises whereupon I would be confined to Marylebone Police Station awaiting my trial and criminal conviction. He would, he assured them, be in touch.

And then he marched me down the stairs, out of the house, down the street, and into a hansom cab. We were back at his house by the river not half an hour later.

‘My poor, dear, sweet little ferret,’ Raggles purred as he poured me another whiskey and soda (he had, upon being paid his bi-yearly allowance, promptly gone out and bought a bottle of Scotland’s Finest). ‘How is that hand feeling?’

‘Oh, I’ll survive, I’m sure…’ I whimpered, looking up into his soft, limpid eyes. ‘I am still rather shaken, though. She nearly _shot me,_ Raggles! I could have _died_!’

Raggles sat down on the settee beside me after running a comforting hand over my head and tutting in sympathy.

‘We were jolly lucky to come out of that at all,’ he said, taking a good slug of whiskey himself.

‘Lucky they didn’t recognise you.’

‘Well, it was dark,’ he said. ‘But I simply can’t fathom what on earth went wrong! Unless the old frog cancelled his party without telling us.’

‘The girl said the party is next week. Is it possible that you got the date wrong?’

‘It’s not like me to make mistakes, Buddy.’

‘Could be the exception that proves the rule, old chap.’

‘That’s true,’ Raggles conceded as he handed me the invitation. 

I inspected the cream and gilt paper with some small alarm. ‘Er, Raggles?’

‘Yes? Did I get the date wrong?’

‘You did, but-- But Raggles, this says nothing about it being a costume party!’

‘What!’ he cried, snatching the invitation back from me. ‘It does! Look: Y _ou are cordially invited_ … la-di-da-di-da… _on Saturday the 18th_ \-- ah, there we go, Buddy, the 18th, that is next week after all. I’m sorry, old boy.’

‘Keep reading.’

‘... _to a party hosted by the illustrious_ … et cetera, et cetera… ah! Here were are: _All guests are requested to wear F-- Formal Dress…_ Ah.’

‘Yes.’

‘I didn’t have my glasses on when I read it. I thought it said “Fancy Dress”.’

We both sat back and, for a moment, pondered on our brush with tragedy.

‘Really rather a good thing that I got the date wrong, in that case,’ Raggles said.

‘It would have been rather embarrassing.’

‘They might have actually called the police on you.'

‘That wouldn’t have been ideal.’

‘Far from ideal.’

‘And I wouldn’t have gotten a _Purple Diamond_ , then, anyway. … Good lord, I wouldn’t have been able to show my _face_ ever _again_ in _any_ Plumber’s Association! I’d have been finished! ...So, really, Raggles, you rather saved my skin, by reading the wrong date.’

‘Oh!’ Raggles suddenly sprang to his feet, and I watched with interest as he darted off. He was so lithe. 

‘What is it? Have you remembered where you put the handcuff keys?’ I called back, glancing at my still-shackled hands.

‘No, _better_!’ he cried as he rushed back in from the hallway.

I blinked as a blinding light shone in my face.

‘Raggles!? Is that a--’

‘A _Purple Diamond Head Lantern_! Yes!’

‘Oh!’

‘I put it in my pocket as we were leaving! The girl did give it to me, after all. I quite forgot about it, until you brought it up.’

‘Oh, Raggles!’ I cried. ‘Oh, _Raggles_! You’ve-- You’ve saved me, yet again!’

‘It was nothing,’ he said humbly, setting the lantern down on the table. ‘But I think that perhaps we might avoid costume parties, in the future…’

I flung my arms around his neck -- or, rather, over his head -- and looked up at him and sighed a sigh of a softly sighing breeze. 

‘I quite agree, A. J. Even if you do make a wonderful police officer.’

‘Mm. And you, my fiendish ferret, make a rather fetching thief.’

‘You are my hero, Raggles.’

‘Anything for my dear Buddy,’ he smiled down at me. ‘ _Come what may, I do adore thee so, that danger shall seem sport…’_

At his quietly spoken words, and the accompanying touch of his gentle hand beneath my chin, I lived up to my burgeoning criminal reputation by stealing the very best prize of all:

A kiss from A. J. Raggles.


End file.
